


Remain Indoors

by blueinkedbones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: COVID19, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23277313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueinkedbones/pseuds/blueinkedbones
Summary: Turns out Derek is a prepper.Stiles finds the bunker one day, just takes it in for a while. The stocked shelves, dusty cans and boxes, stacks of water, generators, a first aid kit.“What the fuck did you think was going to happen?”“I don’t know,” Derek says. He squares his shoulders. “I wanted to be ready.”“Nothing bad’s gonna happen,” Stiles says. He takes another look around, marveling. Shakes his head. “Nothingthisbad.”“Something’s coming,” Derek mutters. Flinching when Stiles squints at him, ducking his head. “I don’t... It’s just a feeling.”“PTSD,” Stiles says. “Things are too good right now. Too easy.”“Maybe,” Derek says.He doesn’t sound convinced.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 4
Kudos: 140





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> welcome back to my best and only coping mechanism~

Turns out Derek is a prepper.

Stiles finds the bunker one day, just takes it in for a while. The stocked shelves, dusty cans and boxes, stacks of water, generators, a first aid kit.

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen?”

“I don’t know,” Derek says. He squares his shoulders. “I wanted to be ready.”

“Nothing bad’s gonna happen,” Stiles says. He takes another look around, marveling. Shakes his head. “Nothing _this_ bad.”

“Something’s coming,” Derek mutters. Flinching when Stiles squints at him, ducking his head. “I don’t... It’s just a feeling.”

“PTSD,” Stiles says. “Things are too good right now. Too easy.”

“Maybe,” Derek says.

He doesn’t sound convinced.

It hits Beacon Hills hard, sirens screaming endlessly, and suddenly Stiles can’t see his dad anymore. Scott is trapped in New York, working endless shifts trying to slow the onslaught there. He FaceTimes Stiles just once in three days, and he’s exhausted, barely keeping up the brave face. Stiles says, “Come home,” and Scott snaps, “You kn _o_ w I can’t fucking do that,” and then he starts to cry. And Stiles just wants to—reach out, touch him, the opposite of all the guidances and warnings. He almost hugged his dad on a reflex, and only barely realized in time, stepped sharply away.

Stiles says, “You know you’re a hero, right? Like, a real one.”

“It’s bad,” Scott says. “It’s really bad, Stiles.”

“I know,” Stiles says.

Scott’s mom is still up at the biggest hospital; Dad’s helping set up a temporary expansion. _Hopefully_ temporary, and he’s sixty-five, and Stiles just wants him to get the fuck indoors and stay there. He’s been doing grocery deliveries, leaving them out on the front porch. Melissa unpacks before she takes them inside, wipes everything down.

Stiles isn’t sure he wants her living with his dad either, while they’re going through all this. She’s, she’s on the frontlines for too much of it, barely protected, and if they lose _both_ of them? Scott and him. _Both_ their parents?

Like, he’s _seen_ Derek. He doesn’t _have_ to have seen him. He can figure it out.

Right now, he isn’t saying much of anything.

“You can say it, you know,” Stiles says. “‘I told you so.’”

Derek looks at him. Frowns a little bit, a crease appearing and disappearing between his eyebrows.

“Why?”

“You know,” Stiles says. Shrugging a little, trying not to wonder if the chill is more than cold, or nerves. Softly, he says, “Called it.”

“I didn’t,” Derek says. He looks kind of shocked. “If I—if I knew, you think I wouldn’t do more to stop it? Than _stock up_ , hunker down.”

“Still,” Stiles says. “You kind of knew.”

Derek says, “I didn’t know anything.”

He suggests it, you know. Biting all of them. They’re dying anyway, right? What’s the worst thing that could happen?

Drowning in their own blood, they’re _drowning_...

“I’m not an alpha,” Derek says. “Scott...”

And they both look at each other.

“There’s gotta be,” Stiles says, “there’s gotta be something we can do about this. You’re supernatural, I mean... We didn’t find out about all this stuff if it’s not even gonna _me_ an anything!”

Voice reaching a fever pitch, and he’s out of body, Derek looking at him. Carefully not looking.

He says, “I’m sorry.”

Not fucking good enough, Stiles wants to say, but it’s not like he’s any more helpful.

“I know,” he says. “Me too.”

Derek can’t get sick, at least. It’s Stiles’ one remaining ounce of sanity. Derek can’t get sick, and Scott can’t get sick. And Stiles wants his dad bitten based on that alone.

“It doesn’t work like that,” Derek says. “What I did, with my pack... It wasn’t normal. Those decisions take a long time.”

“That’s fucking stupid,” Stiles says. He wants to cry, and he doesn’t want to. It kind of clots in his throat. “It’s an emergency.”

“Whoever you give the bite to,” Derek says, “they’re in your life forever. You’ll always feel them.”

“Cry me a river,” Stiles says. “World’s tiniest violin.”

“And if they _d_ ie,” Derek says. “It stays with you. That hollow feeling.”

“But you’ve,” Stiles says, and then he doesn’t say anything. Derek’s looking at nothing again. “Like... How bad?”

“Sometimes you don’t think about it,” Derek says. “And sometimes it’s all you can think about. And you’re paralyzed, and nothing else matters.”

“But if it s _a_ ves people,” Stiles says. “If they were gonna die anyway, wouldn’t you know—you tried to stop it. You did everything. And if you _could’ve_ , if you d _i_ dn’t...”

“Come with me,” Derek says, after a while. “We’ll find someone.”

“We’ll...” Stiles says, blank, and Derek says, “Someone will do it.”

“God,” Stiles says, and shudders. “You think?”

“If you’re with me,” Derek says. “You’ll convince them.”


	2. Chapter 2

Derek’s not letting Stiles make deliveries anymore; they’ve been staying in. Not the bunker, but the apartment, Derek going out sparingly for supplies. He takes a shower when he gets back, washes his hands furiously before he lets Stiles touch him.

“You can’t get sick,” Stiles says, and there’s still that edge of fear there, do they know that? Do they really, are they sure? But Derek’s never been sick before.

“I can get _you_ sick,” Derek says. “Surfaces. Or your dad...”

He’s been working with him, helping with some of the physical work. Hauling, lifting. Directing people away. _This is where the sick people are. Do you wanna get sick?_

It’s kind of a waking nightmare, the almost-easily reshaped routine of it, people taking it so seriously. But not taking it seriously is worse.

Now they’re packing for the world’s worst roadtrip. No sight-seeing, no impromptu stops. No getting out of the car.

“Stay in the car,” Derek says. “You need to _stay in the car_. I’m not kidding, Stiles. Unless we’re only around werewolves...”

“I know,” Stiles says, even if his insides are itching thinking about it. Nothing like a direct order to make his brain shout _I’ll do what I want!_

It’s just that people are dying already.

“’I’ll turn the car around,” Derek says. “I’ll get you back in, and turn the car around, and wall you into the bunker until this is all over.”

“I know,” Stiles says. “I know.”

“You’ll stay in the car,” Derek says. “You’ll—I’ll bring them to you.”

“Okay,” Stiles says.

Scott doesn’t get why this can’t be done over the phone. Scott, who doesn’t even agree with the concept. How do you know it isn’t more dangerous? How do you know it won’t be instant black blood? All those people don’t even know about werewolves. You don’t know how they’re gonna handle it.

"It’s something,” Stiles says. “I have to do s _o_ mething, Scott.”

“Stay inside,” Scott says, but he’s always been like that. He’s never been interested in going a little out of the box, taking a risk when they’re already desperate.

“I’m not gonna be,” Stiles says, and then, "Derek’s keeping me in the car. He’s gonna get the food, I’m not even touching the wrappers.”

“How is he?” Scott says, and Stiles blinks at him. “I mean... taking everything. All the... death.”

“I don’t think anyone’s doing great, Scott,” Stiles says, and a non-crisis Stiles would’ve stopped to admire the accidental wordplay. “He’s... you know. Miserable, and guilty. Angry, scared. All the feelings.”

“He thinks this is a good idea?” Scott says, and Stiles doesn’t know. Doesn’t know how the switch flipped exactly, what changed Derek’s mind.

“He’s _doing_ it,” Stiles says. “Driving.”

“You talk him into things,” Scott says, too wisely, and Stiles says, “I just talk.”

“If something happens to you,” Scott says, and Stiles says, “I know, I know. You’ll kill him.”

“He’ll kill _me_ ,” Scott says. “He’ll...” dropping the rest of it, but Stiles says, “I know. He’s not Mr. Sunshine on the best of days.”

“No, he’s not!” Scott says. “You’re the only thing he cares about.”

“C’mon,” Stiles says weakly, but it’s not like he has a retort for that. “He cares about—what we’re doing. And your mom, and my dad. Saving people.”

“He won’t,” Scott says. “He won’t care about anything.”

 _If something happens to you_. Stiles knows.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” Stiles says. “And if it does... I can be the experiment. Make sure it’s safe.”

“You’re gonna kill him,” Scott says, and Stiles doesn’t know when Scott started worrying about Derek so much. When it wasn’t just fading animosity, and extremely tentative trust, and awkward, stilted conversations from a long way away. Stiles has a better relationship with the guy who delivers his pizza.

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me,” Stiles says again. “ _Or_ Derek.”

Scott sighs. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

A pack human’s sent out first, an emissary, and Derek’s spine tenses, and he snarls, “He’s _human_.”

It’s so bizarre and unlike him that Stiles just stares at him for a long second, and Derek’s face doesn’t shift for a longer one, and then he lowers his head. His hand hovering over Stiles’ shoulder, not exactly touching, and he says, “They’re endangering you.”

“It’s one guy,” Stiles says. Trying to be calm, laugh about this. Calm Derek down. “He’s not gonna cough in my face.”

Over Stiles’ shoulder, Derek’s hand tightens into a fist.

“I’m not even the real, like, vulnerable demo,” Stiles says. “I’m—Even if I get it, it’s not— _I_ _’m_ the one who’s dangerous.”

“You’re not gonna get it,” Derek says. His voice is harsh, just slightly cracking. “You’re gonna stay in the car.”

“I’m in the car,” Stiles says. Hands up, kind of jokingly, playful, and Derek looks jerkily away, and Stiles says, “I’m in the car,” softer. “I’m in the car. I’m okay.”

Lowering his hands, and Derek doesn’t say anything. He just breathes out harshly, says, “I’m going to—call them, tell them _he_ can’t— _be_ here.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, still soft.

“In a minute,” Derek says, and breathes in sharply, exhales slow.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Stiles says, quietly. “Go along with this.”

Another sharp breath. Derek says, “I agreed.”

“Yeah, that’s not _binding_ ,” Stiles says. “You can take it back. I won’t—sue you.”

“It’s important,” Derek says. His breaths are easing slowly. “Feeling—like you’re doing something. Not just...”

“Standing by,” Stiles says. “Yeah. I’m, I’m not really a fan of the whole, being a bystander. While everyone dies around me.”

“So,” Derek says. A little too sharply.

Like that’s it. Case made, decision over.

“But I’m not—” Stiles says. “You know. I don’t really like the whole—scaring you to death thing, either. ...You’re like—my favorite person.”

“Scott,” Derek says harshly, and Stiles says, “You and Scott. And my dad. Yeah. I don’t know what I’d—I don’t know what I’d fucking do without you.”

“Survive,” Derek says, and Stiles says, “No.”

Derek’s head turning sharply, Derek staring at him. And it’s—he’s got the most killer stare in the world. The softest, most serious stunned face.

“You can’t be th _a_ t surprised,” Stiles says. Trying to laugh. It doesn’t really work. “I love you.”

And Derek shudders, and Stiles can’t stand it anymore. Throws his arms around him, and Derek stiffens, and Stiles knows—is sure he’s thinking about everywhere he’s been, everything he touched, how long ago he did laundry. It’s just too awful, having to care.

“I’m already touching you,” Stiles says. “I’m already—so if it’s dumb, it’s too late.”

“Stop,” Derek says, but he shudders again, leans in a little. Stiles rubs his shoulder, the tension in his throat.

“Some things,” Stiles says, “I’m gonna have to—I just can’t _not_. Not with you. You’re my favorite person,” he says again. “Not Scott, not—anybody. And I wanna kiss you,” he adds. “But I get it, if you can’t—do that.”

“Not now,” Derek says, and Stiles nods, nods. Hugs him closer, to make up for the loss.

“We don’t have to do any of this,” Stiles says. “We could go back home. Shower, and you could—do anything.”

And a siren speeds past, the perfect punctuation. Derek drops his head.

“We decided,” he says. “We’re going.”

**Author's Note:**

> please stay home.


End file.
